


Sensual Telepathy Altering Reality

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Brainwashing, Crying, F/F, Involuntary Arousal, Mind Control, Mind Rape, Sex as a coping method, non-consensual telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 04:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22538674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: The Doctor's new body just wantsso manythings. She just moves things forward.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	Sensual Telepathy Altering Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Buckle in, friends. This is a dark 'un.

The Doctor paced. 

This body liked pacing. It liked most forms of movement, liked to run and chase and eat and fuck. Already, it was _her_ body, and already, these were turning into things that she liked to do, things that were part of _her_ , and that in and of itself felt like a lot. 

She was still figuring out who she was, what she was. What she wanted. 

The Doctor sighed, leaned against the TARDIS console. “How’re you feeling?” She ran her fingers along the smooth metal. “I think one of your filters could use some changing -”

The TARDIS gave a grumble, and the panel under her hand seemed to shiver.

“Alright, so you’ve had enough maintenance,” the Doctor grumbled. “Forgive me for bein’ a bit… restless.” 

She’d been doing a lot of repairs lately, fixing this, that, and the other, to keep her hands busy, to keep her mind busy. She was very pointedly Not Thinking about the smell of smoke, the shattered dome. She was _not_ thinking about the fact that it was her fault, because she’d let him go free, let her go free, let that madness run unchecked and had -

“No, none of that,” the Doctor said out loud. “We’re not doing that. Because if we do that, we’ll end up sitting here for hours feeling sorry for ourselves. Ourself?” She paused. “Why am I talking to myself like this?” She ran her fingers through her hair, which was probably making it messier.

She was talking to herself because she needed to _feel_ it. She needed the sensation of her vocal chords vibrating, her chest vibrating. She needed to feel things with her body. She had a body - she had this excellent body that wanted all of these things, filling her with hormones and chemical signals. 

“Right,” the Doctor said. “Let’s get some body things going. I can do body things! I’ve got a whole ship to myself!” 

The humans were sleeping - humans needed so much sleep, and the idea of sleep was a deep, visceral longing at the base of her skull, but if she slept she’d end up dreaming of the wreck of Gallifrey, or… maybe the Master would worm his way into her mind. 

Anyway, she’d never been one for sleep - she’d always had so much to _do_ , so much to see, so many things to learn. 

She’d go for a swim, go for a run, go beat up the punching bag in the training room, go use her body until her brain stopped screaming at her and niggling at her, before she stopped wanting to fiddle with the TARDIS, stopped worrying over the problem she’d had curling through her guts like a worm in an apple.

* * *

She swam three laps, before climbing out of the pool in disgust. It was using her body, sure, but her brain ended up bored, and then it would _dwell_ , if not on Gallifrey than on all of her other failures. 

She ran on a treadmill, but encountered a similar problem - she could just keep going and going, and her brain would tick over problems and questions and find new ways to yell at her. She punched the bag until her knuckles were raw and red, but the same manic energy kept running through her. 

The Doctor made a disgusted noise, and she went to take a shower, standing under the hot water and letting it beat down on her head. That was a nice feeling, a nice sound - the drumming was like rain on a tin roof, and it quieted things down a bit. She ended up scrubbing herself slowly, trying to prolong the time she was in the shower, prolong the pleasant sensation. She sighed as she washed along her chest, and then she paused, washcloth hovering over one hard nipple.

That was new. Sort of. 

She’d done a few vague experiments with her new body, but something else was always coming up, and her last body had been so disinterested in sex that she hadn’t really given it much thought. It was a thing she’d get to eventually, but there had always been something that needed doing. 

Apparently she was the thing that needed doing now. 

The Doctor let the washcloth drop onto the floor, and she leaned against the shower wall. That was a body thing, right? Sex? She’d been planning on doing it with someone else first, probably one of the fam. Probably Yaz, if she was being honest with herself - she’d seen the lovesick looks the girl had been shooting her, and Yaz was pretty enough. 

The Doctor knew how these things went. She traveled with a pretty young thing, and the pretty young thing fell in love with her, and she’d put up a token protest and then they’d fall into bed with her. She was already starting to see the signs with Yaz, and that was… fine, it was the way these things went, but _oh_ , she was restless. She was ready to be at the falling into bed stage, or even past it, at the point where they fucked often, with enthusiasm. At the point where she was surprised and delighted by her human’s ingenuity and perversity. 

She pinched her nipple, throwing her head back and letting the water drum down on her head. She was trying to rub her clit from this angle, and it sent nice… tingles up her back, a little nibble of warmth, but it wasn’t doing anything especially interesting otherwise. It was… fine. 

Absolutely fine.

“This can’t be all there is,” she said, and her own voice echoed back at her. “I’ve fucked enough women, I know what they get like, how good it can be.” She rubbed her face aggressively, and she sighed gustily. She wanted another body in here with her, wanted to press herself against warm curves, push aside dark hair to kiss along a slender neck, weigh small breasts in her hand and pinch the nipples…

The Doctor sighed again, and she got fully under the water again. Maybe she could do… something to speed things along. Just a bit. A temporary fix. 

She’d just get whatever this was out of her system, and she would be fine. Absolutely fine. 

* * *

The Doctor knocked on Yaz’s door, and she rocked on her heels. Should she have brought flowers, or would that send the wrong message? Maybe chocolates? What was it that humans did for courting in Yaz’s era? Was it even courting? 

“Doctor,” said Yaz, and she smiled at the Doctor, her eyes crinkling up at the edges. She had such a lovely face - the Doctor would never be able to get over the loveliness of humans, and how they could be so fragile and so strong at the same time.

… She must have been dealing with some kinds of feelings, if she was getting this teary over human beings being human beings. She smiled back, and then she gave Yaz a hug, wrapping the human in her arms and nuzzling her neck into Yaz’s neck. She could smell Yaz’s pheromones, the stuff she used to clean her clothes, a little bit like the TARDIS, a little bit like the Doctor. The Doctor sighed, feeling some of the tension leaving her shoulders, and she pressed closer, until they were squished tightly together, breast to breast. Oh, that was novel - softness against softness. 

“You’re awfully affectionate,” Yaz said, and her voice vibrated through her chest, up against the Doctor’s, and that was perfect too. 

“Feelin’ a little lonely,” the Doctor said, which was sort of true. She rubbed her nose along Yaz’s neck, feeling the human’s pulse against her skin. She’d gotten used to the single pulse by now, although it had been terrifying the first go ‘round, but these days she found it almost calming. Besides, the idea of sharing any kind of intimacy with another Time Lord… there was only one Time Lord now, and she’d sooner take a knife to the kidneys than let him near her. 

“Oh, Doctor,” said Yaz, and her voice softened. Her arms closed around the Doctor’s waist, and she held on, one hand stroking the Doctor’s back, the other on the back of the Doctor’s head.

The Doctor reached back with her foot, kicking the door closed, Yaz jumped at the slam, but the Doctor just held on tighter, breathing in the familiar scent of human and Yaz and TARDIS. She’d been thinking about this idly since she’d first invited the “fam” onto the TARDIS, and now it was happening.

The Doctor pressed her mind against Yaz’s, gently, and found it as welcoming and comfortable as she’d thought it would be. Yaz didn’t know she was in there, as far as she could tell - Yaz didn’t have a speck of telepathic sensitivity. She’d been testing, idly, the way she did with all her pretty young companions. She threw a thought, here and there. She was beginning to get the feel of Yaz’s mind, and she sighed again.

Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? What better way to quiet the screaming in her head than to drown it out with someone else?

“Doctor?” Yaz’s voice was questioning, and her breath was ticklish along the Doctor’s neck. 

“It’s nothin’, Yaz,” the Doctor murmured. “You just feel nice.” Her hands slid along Yaz’s back, finding the hem of Yaz’s sweater and sliding under it, to palm at the warm skin.

Yaz jumped, and she disentangled herself from the Doctor, and went to sit on her bed, her elbows on her knees. She couldn’t seem to tell that the Doctor was still just… resting in her mind, but she was looking at the Doctor with a hard to read expression. Whatever emotions were powering that expression were buried deep in her mind, and the Doctor couldn’t find them. “You don’t half have cold hands,” said Yaz, and she leaned back. “So you want some company?” 

“Yeah,” the Doctor said, and she sat down next to the Doctor, close enough that they were thigh to thigh, hip to hip. “You make my head feel better.” She wrapped a hand around Yaz’s waist, and she pulled the human closer to her, so that Yaz was half draped on her. Her fingers wormed their way under Yaz’s shirt, and she drew little figure eights on the warm skin. 

“What kinda company?” Yaz was wriggling, and the Doctor pulled her closer, until Yaz’s head was on her chest, right over her breast. There was an edge of nerves in her mind, and the Doctor tried to send soothing calm along the link, feeling Yaz’s muscles gradually begin to relax. 

“Y’know,” the Doctor said, and her hand moved further up Yaz’s back, along the knobs of Yaz’s spine. “ _Company_.” 

Yaz shivered, and there were goosebumps under the Doctor’s fingers. “Not very descriptive,” she said, but she had stopped wriggling.

The Doctor brought a hand up, and began to stroke her fingers through Yaz’s hair, scratching gently at Yaz’s scalp. “There’s languages that have words for every way of being with a person,” said the Doctor, as her hand went higher up Yaz’s back, then lower, leaving Yaz’s shirt to rest on the waistband of Yaz’s jeans. “From ‘I sit next to them on the bus’ to ‘I killed their uncle so I could marry them.’” 

“Any place where you need to kill an uncle seems to be too backwards to have buses,” said Yaz. She was half straddling the Doctor’s thigh in this position, and the Doctor tried to press deeper into Yaz’s mind, to see what it was Yaz was feeling.

She was met with… confusion. Yaz seemed to be off balance, unsure of why the Doctor was acting like this. 

Maybe the Doctor had been too hands off in this incarnation. Well, no time like the present to fix that!

The Doctor let her hand trail under the waistband of Yaz’s jeans, barely, her fingertips dipping under the denim. 

Yaz froze against her, and then squirmed, as if she was trying to get away. 

The Doctor followed, letting her hand dip down lower, until the waistband of Yaz’s jeans pressed into the back of her hand, not just her knuckles. “Buses are a pretty universal constant,” she told Yaz earnestly, and she shifted her thigh again. She could feel the beginnings of arousal beginning to thrum through Yaz’s body, little stirrings of heat like embers. She could feel the phantoms of it in her own body - the steady pressure of the Doctor’s thigh against Yaz’s clit, the tingle of the Doctor’s cooler hand making its way down the back of her pants, to her arse. The Doctor sent her own arousal down it, the joy of having another body against her own, the comfort of a heartbeat against her own. 

Another spike of anxiety, as the Doctor’s hand moved lower, to cup the cheek of Yaz’s arse through the thin cotton knickers. “Doctor?” Yaz’s voice sounded nervous, and there was energy coiling through her body, tensing her muscles.

“Mmm?”The Doctor said, distracted. Yaz really had a magnificent arse - it wasn’t as round as some others, but it was taut with muscle, and it gave wonderfully when the Doctor squeezed it. She didn’t have a cock this go ‘round, but she remembered the tight, desperate squeeze of an arse on the cock she used to have, and her stomach clenched with more arousal. 

“What are you doing?” Yaz sat up on one elbow, looking up at the Doctor and frowning. 

“What’s it seem like I’m doing?” The Doctor took another handful, gave it a good squeeze. She let her thumb press along the cleft of Yaz’s ass, and Yaz squirmed some more. 

“I don’t think you’re doing what I think you’re doing,” Yaz said, and she didn’t seem to understand how contradictory that sentence was.

“Well, what do you think I’m doing?” The Doctor let her hand drift lower. She could feel the desperate heat of Yaz’s cunt against her leg, radiating life. Humans burned so _hot_. She’d been startled by it at first, but she’d almost come to crave it at this point. A hot cunt, a single heartbeat, and her own mind probing without being probed… it was as addictive as any drug. 

“I _think_ you’re feeling me up like you’re some pervert trying to get his rocks off at the cinema,” said Yaz. “But you’d never do that, right?” 

“As if I’d be a pervert at a cinema,” the Doctor said. “You wouldn’t be able to pay attention to the movie, if you’re… peverting, and what’s the point of going to the movies if you’re not gonna see the movie?” She gave Yaz’s ass a firmer squeeze, and Yaz wriggled a bit more. 

“Doctor,” Yaz said, and there was an undercurrent of panic on the edge of her mind now. The Doctor sent out a wave of calm to their connection, and Yaz was calming down again. She was shaking, and the Doctor withdrew her hand, to cup Yaz’s chin, making the human look up into her face.

“Yaz,” the Doctor said, and she kept her voice gentle, sweet, “It’s okay. I know.”

“What d’you know?” Yaz was sitting up, and she was putting more distance between their bodies. The Doctor sat up as well, and pressed closer, her hand on Yaz’s face. She could feel Yaz’s jaw shift under her palm, 

“I know that you’re in love with me,” the Doctor said, and she kept her voice tender. “It’s okay.”

“Doctor,” Yaz said, and she pulled back, licking her lips. Her eyes were very wide. “I’m really flattered -” she began.

“Yaz, I know you watch me,” the Doctor said, and she looked at Yaz through her eyelashes. “I know you’re in love with me. And it’s really alright.” That had worked on a few companions, in the fast. Sarah Jane had fallen all over herself, and Tegan had muttered darkly before kissing him desperately. There was more disbelief flaring along their connection.

“Doctor, I… admire you, I think you’re amazing, you’re one of my dearest friends, I’d trust you with my life, but… I’m not in love with you. Not like that.” There was genuine anguish in Yaz’s mind, and the Doctor was faintly curious about that - what would be upsetting the girl so hard? 

“You don’t have to lie to yourself, Yaz,” the Doctor said, “or to me.” She pressed closer, and then she was kissing Yaz, gentle, delicate. She pressed deeper into the human’s mind, and she found it soft and yielding, letting her in. Unlike Yaz’s mouth, which stayed stubbornly closed, her lips dry and not moving.

Yaz’s hands on the Doctor’s shoulders, pushing her away. “Doctor,” she said, and more terror, flaring through her whole mind like a supernova. The Doctor had to hold on tight, to keep it from overcoming her. “Doctor, you’re not well, something must be… possessing you, or infecting you, this isn’t you…”

“Of course it’s me,” the Doctor said, and she kissed Yaz again, sending more calm through the connection, waves of pink cotton candy. She didn’t think she’d need to add any lust - she could feel the way Yaz’s blood was singing hotly. “This is how it always goes, Yaz.”

“What?” Yaz’s brow was knitting up, her eyebrows almost pressing together. 

The Doctor pressed her thumb against that line, the way she’d been idly tempted to all those other times. “You’re my companion,” she told Yaz gently. “You fall in love with me, I rebuff your advances because I’m so much older and more dangerous than you could ever imagine, eventually I give in to your youthful, human charms, we fall into bed together…” The Doctor sent the faintest hints of images to Yaz, images of the two of them kissing, her head between Yaz’s legs, Yaz’s hand down the front of her trousers… 

“What are you talking about?” Yaz’s skin was getting hotter. The Doctor pressed her palm to Yaz’s cheek, her thumb tracing over the elegant line of Yaz’s profile. 

“It’s how it always goes,” the Doctor said, and she kissed Yaz again, as she sent _want_ down their connection, letting a bit of her own will seep into Yaz’s consciousness.

Yaz gasped, her mouth open, and the Doctor’s tongue slid inside of it. She willed Yaz to want to hold on to her, willed Yaz to relax. She was smiling, just a little, as Yaz gave a little sigh, her hand on the Doctor’s shoulder, clutching at the Doctor’s shirt. 

“See?” The Doctor murmured, as one hand went to Yaz’s chest, palming a small breast and squeezing it. “You know you want it. It’s okay. This’ll normally happen more… organically, but I just want to skip a few steps, just for tonight. We can go back to normal after, I promise.” She didn’t know if she was going to keep to that promise, but Yaz didn’t need to know that. 

“Doctor, I don’t want this,” Yaz murmured, but she wasn’t pushing the Doctor away, as the Doctor got off the bed to crouch in front of her. She put up a token amount of resistance when the Doctor pushed her thighs open, but she was staring at the Doctor with wide, confused eyes. 

“You do,” the Doctor assured her, and she sent more of the certainty into Yaz’s mind. This was taking more work than usual, but she could tell that Yaz’s resolve was weakening. The Doctor knew she was right, even if Yaz didn’t know it yet. She brought her hands up Yaz’s sides, pushing Yaz’s shirt up, and she made a delighted noise when Yaz’s breasts were bared. The human hadn’t been wearing a bra. “Oh, these are lovely.”

“Doctor,” Yaz mumbled, “please stop. I won’t say anything, I just… please don’t do this.” She didn’t fight when the Doctor pushed her shirt up, but she tried to cover her breasts with both arms. She resisted, just a little bit, when the Doctor’s hands encircled her wrists and pulled them open, but she became more compliant when the Doctor sent more lust sinking into her mind.

“You’re so lovely, Yaz,” the Doctor murmured, pressing her face into the space between Yaz’s breasts. She pressed kisses up along one breast, and then she took Yaz’s nipple into her mouth, sucking on it noisily, the tip of her tongue rasping against the pebbled skin. She let herself explore the differences in texture between the nipple and the breast, as Yaz’s heartbeat got faster under her lips. _You love me_ , the Doctor sent into the great, open pool of Yaz’s mind, and she could feel the ripples of it, sinking down into the deep parts of Yaz’s psyche.

The Doctor had never been particularly good at anything related to telepathy, but humans were easy, shockingly easy. She would’ve felt guilty, if she wasn’t half drunk on the sensation of sinking into someone else’s mind. Why hadn’t she done this sooner? It was quieting all the screaming, it was filling her whole head with the sweet fog of lust, as she concentrated on skin and nerves and salt, pheromones filling her whole head. 

“Doctor,” Yaz murmured, but she wasn’t pushing the Doctor away. She’d gone limp, just sitting there as the Doctor switched breasts, taking as much of it into her mouth as she could. Yaz’s hands hung limply at her sides, and she was shivering as the Doctor pressed kisses up along her sternum, towards her neck. “Doctor, please…”

A bit of wetness landed on the Doctor’s cheek, and she paused, looking up. Yaz’s eyes were red and wet, and tears were dripping down it. “Oh, no,” the Doctor crooned, and she let go of Yaz’s wrists to wrap her arms around Yaz’s shoulders, where her shirt had been bunched up. “Sh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” She kissed Yaz’s wet cheeks, and pressed more reassuring feelings into Yaz’s mind, kissed Yaz’s mouth with a salty mouth and pressed her thoughts in that way too, the way she pressed her tongue into Yaz’s mouth.

Yaz didn’t kiss her back, but she wasn’t shoving the Doctor away either. She let herself be kissed, and her heart beat like a caged bird under the Doctor’s hand. When the Doctor pulled back, Yaz’s lips were parted, and a little swollen from being kissed. Her nipples were swollen as well, and that was… that was a lot. She looked a picture of debauchery, and it made the Doctor’s cunt clench, all to aware of the emptiness.

“The next time we do this,” the Doctor told Yaz, as she began to make quick work of Yaz’s trousers, “I’m going to bring a toy. You can use it on me, I can use it on you, it’ll be great. I’ve got a great one that translates around nerve maps, it does _excellent_ stuff.” 

Yaz didn’t move when the Doctor tugged at the belt loops of her jeans, and the Doctor had to send more telepathic suggestions, to make Yaz lift her hips. 

The Doctor pulled Yaz’s knickers and jeans down in one go. She pressed a hand against the sticky, slimy crotch of Yaz’s knickers, and she grinned, scrunching her nose up. “And you said you didn’t want this,” the Doctor teased. “I can feel how wet you are, Yaz.” She tossed the clothing off to the side, and she spread Yaz’s thighs, sitting back on her heels to admire the pretty cunt in front of her. 

“I think this is a bad idea, Doctor,” Yaz said, and her hands were going to rest on the Doctor’s head. “I just… I don’t think I want this.”

“You definitely want this,” the Doctor assured Yaz, as she shuffled closer, until her own breath was ruffling Yaz’s pubic hair. Her knees were already starting to ache from digging into the floor. “Don’t worry, Yaz. I don’t mind.”

“Why would you… Doctor, that’s… oh.” Yaz’s voice cracked, as the Doctor’s tongue passed over her cunt. 

The Doctor moaned, and she let her own delight in Yaz’s body slam through their connection, hard enough that Yaz jerked forward, her fingers clenching in the Doctor’s blond hair. Yaz tasted like salt and mask, like her mortality, like the way she was ovulating and had just gotten over a cold. Her cunt was slippery and wet, soft and familiar the way all cunts were, but unique as well, the way every cunt was different. The Doctor was looking forward to getting to know it better, the way she’d known so many others. Yaz let out a gush of wetness when the Doctor’s tongue slid inside of her, and she made a strangled, gasping noise when the Doctor’s lips closed around her clit. 

_You love me_ , the Doctor sent, timing the feelings with each suck. _You want me. You want this._ She let one finger slide up under her chin, into the shocking inferno of the human’s cunt. 

Yaz sobbed, clenched around it, and she gasped when the Doctor added two more. She was clenching around the Doctor, and her hips were rising up to meet the Doctor’s sucking and licking. She sobbed, and she was bending forward now, pressing her stomach into the Doctor’s nose.

The Doctor’s own hand was in her own trousers, and when had that happened? What had seemed boring and faintly pointless when she was by herself was charged with an erotic intensity that made her toes curl. She slurped and sucked, licking around her fingers as she fucked into Yaz, and she’d dart her eyes up to look at Yaz every now and then, letting her arousal flow through her, into Yaz. 

There were still tears dripping down Yaz’s face, and she kept giving little hiccupy sobs, even as she grunted and moaned with each thrust. The Doctor could feel Yaz’s orgasm already, sizzling on the very edges of her nerves. She lapped at Yaz’s clit and rubbed her own, hard enough that it almost hurt, but her own orgasm was already almost there, and she fed that to Yaz too, shoved all of the intense affection, the arousal, the possessiveness. All of it into the malleable human mind, and maybe it was too much, because Yaz cried out again, and the shock of it traveled down to the Doctor.

Yaz came in that moment, squeezing and spasming around the Doctor’s fingers. She sobbed through it, and the Doctor’s own orgasm came crashing after it. The Doctor gave the pleasure to Yaz, let the human experience echoed pleasure for the first of many times. She slumped forward, her fingers pruning up inside of Yaz, and she pressed a kiss to the inside of Yaz’s thigh.

“That was… amazing,” she said. The screaming, the ash… it was all silent. The Doctor was at peace, and the silence was deafening.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Yaz said quietly. She sighed, as the Doctor’s fingers withdrew, and the Doctor frowned, standing up.

“You had an orgasm,” she told Yaz, “and I know you love me. That’s how it always works.”

“Could y’leave my room please, Doctor?” Yaz’s voice was flat. 

“Aw, Yaz, what’s wrong?” The Doctor took Yaz’s face in her hands, and Yaz’s nose wrinkled as the Doctor’s wet hand made contact with her skin. 

“I didn’t want that,” she said. 

“‘Course you did,” the Doctor said, and she pressed a smacking, sweet kiss to Yaz’s mouth. Then she pressed their foreheads together, her fingers going to Yaz’s temples. “Let’s just… fix that…”

Editing human memory was easy. Surprisingly easy. She hadn’t been aware of just how easy it would be. After Donna, well… it had all been a lot. 

She took out the memory, plucked it out like a piece of razor wire in a giant puff of candy floss. She added the reminder to Yaz - _you love me, you want me_ \- and then she stepped back. Yaz’s eyes were fluttering closed, her head lolling on her neck. The Doctor helped her lie down, carefully, and tucked her in. She kissed the top of Yaz’s head, and she turned the light out.

Might not have been the most ethical thing to do, but it was fine. She’d skipped a few steps of the process, but it would be fine. Just because you read ahead didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy the chapters beforehand. 

She brought her sticky fingers up to her face, and she took a deep breath, basking in the musky pheromones that filled her like incense in a small room. She yawned, exhaustion tugging at her out of nowhere. 

She’d lost the restless energy, at least. 

* * *

The Doctor slept deep that night, and when she came to breakfast the next morning, she found Yaz alone, reading a novel and drinking tea. She gave the Doctor a shy smile, then glanced back down at her novel. 

“Morning,” Yaz said. “Well, at least I assume it’s morning. Kinda hard to tell around here.” She giggled, and that was an odd sound coming from Yaz. 

The Doctor eyed her sidelong, getting herself a cup of tea. She felt along their connection cautiously… and then she grinned. She could feel the familiar thrum of human affection, mixed in with the first burgeoning shoots of a crush. “Morning, Yaz,” the Doctor said, and she squeezed Yaz’s shoulder, then sat across from her.

Yaz flushed harder, and the Doctor’s smile went wider. 

Right on track. Everything would be absolutely fine.

**Author's Note:**

> +5 to anyone who gets the title reference.


End file.
